


Las Tres Caravelas

by cykelops



Series: Butchered Retellings [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, another dumb fic by me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 20:33:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3583038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cykelops/pseuds/cykelops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and Bull talk over drinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Las Tres Caravelas

**Author's Note:**

> this was beta'd by someone who said to me "i was too invested in the story to edit out much", she tried, god bless her
> 
> i wrote this for fun, the title probably doesnt make sense to anyone but me
> 
> thank you for all your kind words in the comments, im glad i could make some of you happy

Dorian’s eyes had been fixed on his tankard of ale since it was placed in front of him. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the company of Bull’s Chargers, he had simply been feeling under the weather for most of that day. It wasn’t a headache thundering between his temples, like usual, but Krem had quickly put an end to any singing and shouting by gesturing towards Dorian with his chin if someone tried to start something. Whenever one of the barmaids would drop by their table with another round, he’d watch as the tankards quickly exchanged hands and he was given the lightest liquor in the house to protect him from a painful hangover or an upset stomach. None of the Chargers prodded at him to speak up, giving him the space he needed without leaving his company. He did not know what he had done to deserve such fantastic friends, but he wasn’t about to look a gift Bull in the mouth.

Aforementioned Bull was being as thoughtful as his men. Dorian had not been hit with a barrage of filthy praise as he walked in to join them for the night. Bull had dragged a chair close to him as soon as he got a good look at Dorian’s exhausted face, and they had exchanged a few pleasantries before the qunari’s attention returned to the Chargers. Halfway through Dorian’s first ale, Bull had wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him even closer, his large arm a barrier between Dorian and the rest of the tavern. An unnecessary gesture, yes, as Dorian’s problem wasn’t the bright lights or loud sounds, but a sweet one nonetheless.

The amiable behavior of his companions for the night had lifted Dorian’s mood some. After his second tankard he had tuned back into the conversation, and went as far as to manage a smile and a cordial nod the next time Krem’s eyes darted his way to check on him. The man snorted, but visibly relented on his monitoring of the mage.

Bull’s hand had slipped off his shoulder to knead his fingers into his ribs soothingly. When the topic of conversation did not include the qunari, he’d lower his head and nuzzle the side of Dorian’s face, his chest rumbling with an overly-affectionate sound. Dorian would mumble out half-assed protests until Bull’s attention was dragged back into the discussion and he retreated. Slowly, the crowd in the tavern begun to dwindle, and some of the Chargers bid the rest goodnight, stumbling out in a drunken haze. Krem and Dalish remained, but they were speaking quietly amongst one another, Krem’s eyes fond and entirely focused on the woman.

The same barmaid came around for what must have been at least the sixth time, but somehow Dorian had only been allowed two drinks. Outrageous. He raised his head high for the first time all night to object to the preferential treatment, only to be stunned back into silence. The barmaid was undoubtedly beautiful, the sort of woman Varric could write two paragraphs worth of garbage about. Her red curls framed her round face and spilled down over her bare shoulders.  The woman carried a bottle of Bull’s favorite brand, strong as a dragon’s blood.

It was not her beauty nor the bottled lightning in her hands that rendered Dorian speechless, but the way her arm pushed her breasts together as she poured for the Bull, accompanied by a tremendously fierce look in her eyes that would have scandalized a more pious man. Dorian turned to give the Bull an outraged look, and the qunari—Maker bless him— was more preoccupied with getting his tankard filled to the brim than he was with the way the woman’s dress clung to her shapely curves. She stopped pouring eventually, giving Bull a smile and a wink that went by unnoticed as the qunari chugged down his liquid fire. Dorian fixed the woman with a glare hot enough to melt through metal, and she raised her eyebrows innocently at him, swaying her hips with practiced ease as she swaggered away.

Dorian drank too much too quickly, his chest warming dangerously with a mix of theatrical rage and alcohol. He muttered a few choice words in Tevene before Bull’s arm squeezed his midsection and prompted him to look over.

“That’s Cadence, an old friend. She’s harmless, and was only trying to tease you.” he said.

The Altus cursed Bull’s receptiveness internally—not that one needed to be a qunari spy to read Dorian’s baser instincts— and refused to deign that with an answer for it’d be one step too far to admit he could be jealous about the ox.

“You’ve got the best lips for pouting,  _kadan_ , but I don’t want you doing it for all the wrong reasons.”

“One of your colonies trying to force her way into being the capital of your conquests seems like a good enough reason to me to do as I like.” Dorian snapped, hiding his scowl by nursing at his ale.

The Bull’s chest shook with a laugh and Dorian was halfway to standing up and stomping away when his lover dragged him back, kicking Dorian’s chair away and pulling the other man onto his thigh instead. Dorian’s eyes stubbornly remained anywhere but on the Bull and he prided himself in how well he swallowed back a startled squawk as he was manhandled onto the Bull’s lap. Krem and Dalish were long gone by the time Bull was done arranging him in a more comfortable position, and there was no one left in the tavern to laugh at his struggle, but Dorian could feel his ears heating up in embarrassment nonetheless.

“Is that what you think those past fucks were? Conquests?” Bull asked, lowering his voice as if they were exchanging secrets.

“You’re rather fond of the word, after all.” Dorian hated himself just the tiniest bit for the way his tone changed to match Bull’s.

“Cadence and the rest were no conquests. They were… What is that phrase you were so fond of?” Bull pursed his lips in thought and smiled. “A port in a storm. Which is not to say they meant nothing, they are good friends, and they were good bedmates, but that is all.”

He simply could not remain angry at the lummox for long, especially since Bull had done nothing wrong, per se. He let out a little sigh and willed himself to relax.

“I suppose I should apologize. It’s unlike me to behave this way.”

“Behave, maybe, but something tells me you feel like this more often than you let on.”

Dorian bristled, an outcry already at the tip of his tongue, but he was quieted by the mellow curve of Bull’s mouth, a promise he was not being mocked.

“Perhaps you are right.” he admitted.

“Would it help to speak of the harbors the mighty Pavus Caravel has docked on since he joined the Inquisition?”

The Altus laughed, shoving at Bull’s chest and leaning his head against the man’s bicep. Bull chuckled in turn, but stayed quiet long enough for Dorian to realize the question had not been rhetorical.

“Are you serious?”

“You gotta admit there was something a little odd about how often you and Cullen felt the need to slip off to  _play some chess_.” joked the Bull, laughing as Dorian’s face scrunched up and he held a hand over his heart as if offended.

“I’ve  _never_  been so insulted in my life. To claim I, Dorian of House Pavus, a faithful Andrastian, would ever defile one of the Maker’s most sanctimonious, Chantry-raised boys, is a travesty of leviathan proportions.”

The mage cracked an eye open and one look at Bull’s smug expression and raised eyebrows shut down his act and his lips twitched into a smile.

“Well, at least I wasn’t successful when I tried.”

The Bull burst out laughing and took another long drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“What saved the good Commander from your charms? Or the curve of your ass?”

“I suspect it might have something to do with the nature of my anatomy from the waist down, but I don’t presume to know the Commander’s preferences, since I’ve never seen him interested in any one.” Dorian felt the remaining stress slip away as they joked, and the warmth in his chest had bloomed around his heart and somehow managed to loosen his tongue. “To be quite honest… It was I who called for a cease-fire. The more time I spent with the man the more he reminded me of…” he trailed off, but Bull prompted him to continue.

“Felix?”

Dorian swallowed thickly and nodded, he blamed the alcohol in his belly for the sting in his eyes, and he quickly pulled out a handkerchief from his coat pocket, dabbing at his eyes to stop the kohl from smearing.

“Cullen came to the library once, with a box tucked beneath his arm. I thought he was there for Leliana, and walked over to lead him up the stairs, but his face lit up when he saw me… Such an open book, that man.” Dorian chuckled briefly. “Apparently, he’d enlisted one of the cooks to bake biscuits, based off a Tevinter recipe the Inquisitor got his hands on.”

The mage could picture the Commander as he’d been then, with a bright smile and a strong hand on Dorian’s bare shoulder as he handed him the box of biscuits, and rushed off to do the Maker’s work again. He did not share the image with Bull, for it was wrapped up too tightly in his heart, but the qunari could imagine it nonetheless.

“Slipping me treats in the middle of a war, a war my people started. Going out of his way for such a needless gesture, inconveniencing himself for my sake without an agenda. I could have beaten him over the head with that box— but what I wanted to do was throw my arms around those ridiculously furry shoulders of his and sob like a child.”

Bull threaded his fingers through the back of Dorian’s hair, calming the mage by brushing his fingers down over his shaved scalp. He knew he was not meant to comment, that Dorian was opening his heart to him because he trusted him, so he kept his mouth shut and respected what the other man was giving him. It took Dorian some time to collect himself, for his shoulders to stop shaking and for his eyes to no longer threaten his clean complexion by flooding over, but he looked almost refreshed when he did, and he smiled at the Bull sincerely.

“Not gonna ask about any others? It’s easier when you give suggestions.” Dorian said, making Bull think.

“Wouldn’t have thought Cullen to be too interesting to you. You’ve never seemed like the type to be into pretty boys. Now Blackwall—” The grimace returned to Dorian’s face so fast it was almost comical.

“Don’t make me think of that bulky man in that light. Any attraction I could have felt for him has been shattered for very, very long.”

“Why’s that?”

He watched in amusement as Dorian pinched above the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“On a drunken night of misjudgement with Sera and a very, very drunk Blackwall I… I happened to share my origin sob story, foolishly, and… I also happened to let slip how old I actually was.” Bull felt the distinct tug of curiosity at that, and for the first time wondered just how many years that mustache added to Dorian.

“Our dear Grey Warden was outraged by both prospects. I had to physically restrain him while he yelled Ambassador Montilyet’s name at the top of his lungs, swearing to take me as his son and have my name changed from Pavus to Blackwall before the sun came up.” Dorian could not help but smile as he recalled it. “Sera’s promises were a little more colorful, something about making a quiver out of the skin of my father’s testicles.”

They both laughed then, until Dorian had to wipe away a whole different kind of tears and the Bull nearly dropped him off his lap.

“Can’t say I wouldn’t love to watch her do that.”

“I can’t either.”

“Nice to know I won’t have to compete against Blackwall, at least. Don’t know if I could match the man’s masculinity with all that hair.”

“You already have me conquered, there’s nothing for you to fear.” Dorian confessed.

Bull’s laughter came to an abrupt stop, and a smile as bright as the sun took over his face and stopped Dorian’s heart dead on its tracks.

Dorian’s face softened involuntarily. He raised his eyes up at the Bull and opened his mouth, unsure of what he wanted to say, but the man’s easy grin made it impossible to hold eye contact for long before looking away. One of Bull’s fingers traced Dorian’s jaw to the underside of his chin and turned the mage’s head towards him again.

“That’s right. You’re the true conquest. For you I had to strategize, play my cards right. I made some mistakes, yes, there is no such thing as a flawless invasion after all.”

Dorian laughed, grabbing Bull’s hand and holding the palm to his cheek gently. “I do so love it when you compare us to an aggressive infiltration, really warms the heartstrings.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, _kadan_. I compare you to land, to an empire, because there is little else that could measure up to someone as magnificent as you.”

Their lips met before Dorian could dismiss the statement as a joke, and whatever self-deprecating remark he had been planning was quickly snuffed by the kiss. He gave himself into it, letting go of all his carefully orchestrated defences for as long as it lasted. Bull’s arms were warm and unrelenting around him, and he never felt safer than when they were alone together. The qunari was understanding, he did not judge his weaknesses as flaws, but as if they added strength to his character.

The talk of the past and the feelings that were long gone with it was forgotten by the time Dorian pulled back to catch his breath. Bull smiled gently, his breath ghosting over Dorian’s lips still.

“So.” he said. “How old are you, really?”

Dorian shoved his lover’s face away and wrestled himself out of the Bull’s hold, red at the face as it did nothing to stop Bull from laughing. The man was an insufferable beast, but he knew the  _mighty Pavus Caravel_  would not head out to sea again.


End file.
